I Think Whenever A Writer Is Really

Pretend To Be A Delinquent?" I Asked Clarifying. "you Can Do It," Dave Advised Me. "just Don't Smile, And Try To Look Like You're Considering Stealing Something.

Well, It's New Year's Now But I Don't Feel That Way Anymore. I Wonder If You Do Either. Something's Happening To Me. It's Like I'm Shrinking Smaller And Smaller And I Can't Stp It. There's Just Os Much Wrong That I Can't Imagine The Shame In Admitting Even The Tiniest Part Of It. When You Left It Was Like There Was This Huge Gap To Fill, But Instead Of Spreading Wide Enough To Do It I Just Fell Right In, And I'm Still Falling. Like I'm Half-asleep, And I Can't Wake Up, Can't Wake Up.

But You Could Also Look At It The Other Way. Like You’re Saying No Matter How Bad Things Are For You, I Can Still Relate.

At The Same Time, Though, I Was Beginning To Wonder If This Was Just How It Was Supposed To Be For Me, Like Perhaps I Wasn't Capable Of Having That Many People In My Life At Any One Time. My Mom Turned Up, Nate Walked Away, One Door Opening As Another Clicked Shut.

But I'd Long Ago Learned Not To Be Picky In Farewells. They Weren't Guaranteed Or Promised. You Were Lucky, More Than Blessed, If You Got A Good-bye At All.